Ten Weeks Of The Ripper
by Shutterbug5269
Summary: Fresh from their honeymoon in Bora Bora, Newlyweds Rick and Kate catch their first case as husband and wife. A serial killer preying on prostitutes in Washington Heights. Is he the reincarnation of Jack The Ripper or just a deranged psychopath? Much thanks to @Dtrekker for the amazing cover art and to Cofket beta. My second entry for #CastleFicathon
1. Wedding Bells and Dark Alleyways

**Chapter One  
Wedding Bells and Dark Alleyways**

* * *

_Bright is the moon high in starlight_  
_ Chill is the air cold as steel tonight_  
_ We shift_  
_ Call of the wild_  
_ Fear in your eyes_  
_ It's later than you realized_

Metallica, Of Wolf and Man

* * *

June 26th 2014

"_Richard and Katherine, by the power vested in me by God and the State of New York, I now pronounce you man and wife. That which God has joined, let no man put asunder."_

"_You may kiss the bride."_

Rick pulled Kate to him and they kissed for the first time as man and wife. A long, slow tender joining of lips that had even Lanie Parrish craving ice water. They both knew that this day had been a long time coming, and much had stood in their way. Fate, and their own insecurities had played their part in near equal measure. Near death experiences had abounded...for both of them.

They were supposed to have been man and wife for over a month now, but fate had again thrown up a roadblock for them to surmount.

Kate's unknown previous marriage, made in a drunken haze and forgotten for nearly fifteen years had made one last fleeting attempt to steal their happiness but they had endured that, together. Got it sorted and then tragedy had nearly stolen the moment from them again that very same day.

The sight of Rick's Mercedes (the same one that had first brought her to this very spot where they now stood as man and wife) burning in that ravine would be seared into her brain forever and likely factor into her nightmares for years to come. Like the day the New Amsterdam Bank and Trust had exploded with Rick and Martha inside had for much of the first year they were together. Like that day in DC when the super-virus had nearly killed him and he had collapsed into her arms. She'd thought she had lost him.

For a few heartbreaking minutes, she had thought an uncaring universe had stolen him from her on the very day for which they had waited nearly five long years.

Until Rick stumbled out of the trees, having clawed his way up out of the ravine to get to her and collapsed at her feet, succumbing to blood loss and a concussion. His clothes were torn and bloody, his hands a mess of torn skin. She had ridden with him in the ambulance to the small hospital in Southampton, then the helicopter to New York Presbyterian, all without changing out of her mother's dress. How she hadn't gotten any of his blood on it, she would never know.

He had been unconscious for three days while he recovered from the blood loss that had nearly killed him, his hands swathed in bandages. Kate had spent nearly the entire time at his side. Stepping out out of his hospital room only to slip into the change of clothing Alexis had brought her from the loft and for calls of nature. He had been released a day later after careful observation.

It had taken three weeks of physical therapy to get his hands functioning properly again, another week after that for the skin to fully heal, though even now he had taken to wearing soft leather gloves to hide the scars on his hands. Scars that would be visible for years. Martha had bought him very fine expensive white gloves to go with his new Armani tuxedo.

He kept telling everyone he wasn't ashamed of them, that they were a symbol of his devotion to Kate Beckett. An outward sign that he had literally clawed his way out of hell for her. He knew the sight of them unnerved people, especially Martha and Alexis. It made him self-conscious; he had always been fastidious about his appearance, bordering on metro-sexual.

She had found him the perfect pair of soft leather gloves, almost the same color as his skin, ones he would not need to remove to put on the crime scene gloves they wore. She wanted him to know she understood his need to feel normal.

When the New York State Police investigators had discovered evidence that Rick's crash had _not_ been an accident, that tire marks near the accident scene indicated a P.I.T. maneuver had been employed at excessive speed to force him off the road. Most likely by a dark colored SUV seen on traffic cameras leaving the scene at high speed. The huntress in Kate had been re-ignited. She had gone to Riker's Island to visit William Bracken that very afternoon. She had walked into the visitation room with her interrogation face on, disconnected the camera and told him in no uncertain terms precisely what his life would be worth if any further "accidents" befell her family.

The last two weeks had been spent rescheduling the wedding. Together, they recreated the wedding in the Hamptons they were supposed to have with near perfect accuracy. Right down to place settings, music, her mother's dress, Martha's mother's earrings...everything. Bringing them to this moment.

"_Richard and Katherine, by the power vested in me by God and the State of New York, I now pronounce you man and wife. That which God has joined, let no man put asunder."_

"_You may kiss the bride."_

It was their fairy tale. _They_ chose to be the ones to write it. Not the brothers Grimm, not Jerry Tyson, and sure as hell not former Senator William _fucking_ Bracken.

Everything that came between them before was swept away.

* * *

June 29th,, 11:45 PM  
Washington Heights

Elena Markhova (she never did grasp how Americans always seemed to get the matronymic of her family name wrong) stalked the dark, quiet alleyways of Washington Heights' unofficial "red light" district. Essentially a series of low rent hotels that took a policy of _don't ask/don't tell _when it came to prostitution.

She knew her quarry, Emma Smith, could be found here on a nightly basis, walking the corner for her current pimp. Emma was a pretty thing -for a street walking prostitute- intelligent, too. Likely college educated at one time. That was one of the reasons why the late Vulcan Simmons had hired her to count the drug money being sent to Future Forward for her employer, the now former Senator William Bracken.

He may not be a United States Senator anymore, and he may have been indicted for the many crimes he had committed on his climb up the political food chain, but he still commanded enough money to pay her fee. As long as that was the case, she would continue to do the job he had hired her for. Namely, to clean house from the drug cartel that had been created to fund his now fatally stalled presidential campaign.

His political aspirations now over, he had become _more_ dangerous not less. They may have him for enough murders to keep him in prison for the next twenty five years to life, but as he told her in their last communication, he would be dammed if they would get him for _anything_ else. If he ever did get out, (which for man with his connections was exceedingly likely) he would have enough resources to set himself up someplace comfortable. Preferably in a country that did not have an extradition treaty with the United States.

So she was still out here, still cleaning up his mess. She didn't care, she was well compensated for her services.

Emma Smith had just gotten out of a car, after performing her _professional_ services for the man inside, and was about to take up her usual position on the street corner when Elena approached her. A very convincing fake NYPD detective's badge, bearing the number 41319 (Elena had a keen sense of irony, using the badge number of the one life she had ever been paid to save to help do her dirty work) had the young prostitute walking into the alley with her, expecting a shakedown for information from a Vice cop.

Emma Smith turned to face her, the usual denial on her lips. "Look, bitch, I don't talk to cops."

As the hand behind Elena's back twitched, flipping the military-grade Spyderco knife open, she said the one thing Emma's experience as a street hooker hadn't prepared her for.

"I don't expect that you do." Elena stated quietly.

Emma's eyes went wide with terror as she caught sight of the knife in Elena's hand a fraction of a second too late. The plea for mercy, that she wouldn't tell anyone anything, began on her lips and died there as Elena's razor sharp blade bisected her carotid artery with near surgical skill.

Elena sidestepped, in a practiced motion, which allowed her to get clear of most of the arterial spray. Emma's blood painted the alley wall an angry swatch of red instead, before she collapsed, her eyes pleading before they clouded over. Emma Smith was dead before she hit the ground.

"Do svidanya" Elena whispered,

As she walked with a measured stride out of the darkened alley, she removed a red handkerchief from her pocket, cleaned her knife with it, then slid them both into a plastic sandwich bag.

She couldn't help but notice the dark shadow stand over her handiwork for a moment, then move to follow her out. She tensed, her hand on the grip of the gun she carried for self-defense purposes. The one she had used to silence Vulcan Simmons, which had once been registered in Kate Beckett's name. She expected an attack, but the man stuck to the shadows and was gone before she could get a good look at him.

Elena knew almost instinctively that she was not the only predator stalking Washington Heights that night, and this one was not a professional like herself. There was no code, no professional courtesy she could rely upon with this one. The shadow that had stood over her kill was something else entirely. Something darker, more malevolent, a shadow whispered in the dark of night like in her great grandmother's stories from before the _Great Patriotic War_.

Something dark and evil was stalking the shadows of Washington Heights, and she knew she wanted no part of it. Even with all of her training, all of her self confidence, Elena Markhova shivered, and not from the evening's unusual chill.

For the first time in her adult life, Elena Markhova experienced real fear.

* * *

_*Author's note* Did this one without the assistance of my Beta, so I hope my errors are not too bad. Not her fault, she did a wonderful job helping with the beginning of "There is Only the Battle" my other story for the ficathon, I'm just not accustomed to going through the Beta process and I could not contain myself anymore. When she gets back to me later I will make corrections as needed._

_For those who don't know, "The Great Patriotic War" is the name the Russians used for World War Two. And a_ _PIT maneuver, or "precision immobilization technique",_ _ is a pursuit tactic by which a pursuing car can force a fleeing car to abruptly turn sideways, causing the driver to lose control and stop._

_Strap in, this one is going to be dark and angsty. (big surprise, right?)_


	2. Once More into the Breach

**Chapter Two**  
**Once More Into the Breech**

* * *

"_Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;  
Or close the wall up with our English dead..." _

William Shakespeare: Henry The Fifth Act 3, scene 1

* * *

_Previously_

_Elena knew almost instinctively that she was not the only predator stalking Washington Heights that night, and this one was not a professional like herself. There was no code, no professional courtesy she could rely upon with this one. The shadow that had stood over her kill was something else entirely. Something darker, more malevolent, a shadow whispered in the dark of night like in her great grandmother's stories from before the __Great Patriotic War_.

_Something dark and evil was stalking the shadows of Washington Heights, and she knew she wanted no part of it. Even with all of her training, all of her self-confidence, Elena Markhova shivered, and not from the evening's unusual chill._

_For the first time in her adult life, Elena Markhova experienced real fear._

* * *

**Castle loft**  
**Rick and Kate's bedroom**  
**August 31, 2014**

"_Beckett. Where? Washington Heights? Okay be there in twenty."_

Kate Beckett Castle had been back in active rotation for only three days when her first new murder case had come in. She had been on desk duty and active reserve for the last two weeks, filling out paperwork and looking over cold cases, mostly from home, at the insistence of Captain Gates, as well as the Chief of Detectives and the Police commissioner.

After three attempts on her life in the past two years and one on Richard Castle's, orders had come down from the top brass that Kate Beckett was not to hit the streets until Internal Affairs was finished purging the 12th Precinct (as well as several other precincts in Manhattan) of Bracken's network of informants and corrupt cops, including Lieutenant Fowler's Narcotics unit. She was one of the primary witnesses in the William Bracken murder trial, so she had been benched, with pay, until then.

In the end Fowler hadn't been dirty, but enough of his high-ranking people were, (most notably the cops charged with Kate's safety on her solo mission) so in the end he had fallen on his sword and retired from law enforcement, taking a half-pension. Gates felt an intense wave of guilt for pushing that mission on her, especially now that she knew how deep the corruption in that unit had gone.

It had been five o'clock in the morning when she'd gotten the call, jarring Kate awake on one of the few nights that she and Rick hadn't been up all night making love - something they had been doing a lot since their wedding night.

She wanted to think _thankfully _but for the reason why.

Rick had come back from one of his last visits to the physical therapist the evening before. The session had been particularly brutal, _at Rick's insistence_, because he knew she was back on the rotation and she needed him. He had pushed himself way too hard and she could tell as soon as she had looked at him when he'd come home last night that he had been worn out both physically and emotionally.

After a phone call to his physical therapist, (one of the side benefits of finally being _Mrs. Castle_) she had learned he'd climbed the rock wall...again...and again...and again...as if trying to purge the demons from that climb out of the ravine by sheer force of will alone.

It killed her inside that he was doing this to himself. That he was doing it to himself because of _her_. She had told him again and again that he had nothing to prove, but he had been driven by something deep inside that she couldn't touch and couldn't reason with. She hadn't seen this focused, this driven since Alexis had been taken. The single-minded drive to protect the ones he loved, a drive that could lead him to very dark places if she let it. She knew that it was up to her to lead him back from that darkness, just like he had done for her since their unusual partnership had begun.

She had run a bath and they'd sat in the tub together, Kate letting him hold her like she knew he needed to while the hot water, bath salts and bubbles worked on his overburdened muscles, while she hoped that her presence soothed his soul.

Bath time was usually her private time, a chance for her to decompress after a long day. He'd run her a bath and left her alone the night that the senate vote had come down, removing William Bracken from office. Even his political cronies had abandoned him, the vote nearly unanimous with only one abstention, clearing the way for his trial slated for some time next year.

In a fit of piqué, the governor of New York had appointed Evelyn Montgomery to fill his seat for the rest of his term and an election could be held. He'd said it was _poetic justice._ Rick had told her that it was Mayor Weldon who had put her name forward. Citing the two decades of exemplary service to the City of New York. Kate had thought it was fitting that the wife of one of those he hurt would be taking over his seat in the halls of power. Poetic justice indeed.

Now it was time for her life to move forward, even though that meant that somebody's life had come to an end. She had finally gotten justice for her mother, Bracken would have his day in court and be punished for his many crimes. But for her mother's justice to have meaning, it was time to move forward and get that same justice for others, like her mother would have wanted. Her mother had always told her that pursuit of justice had no end.

As Kate debated whether or not to wake Rick up, his muffled voice floated up from the bed while she was getting dressed.

"Kate...whossat?" he mumbled, "Precinct?"

"Yeah," she replied, "honeymoon's over, babe, a body just dropped."

She sat on the bed next to him to pull on her socks then her boots, her _power heels. _They made her feel like Detective Beckett again, rolling out to do the job that had become her life's calling. It was harder to balance Det. Beckett with Mrs. Castle than she had thought it would be, but the life she was building with Rick was worth that effort. She slipped on her father's watch, and the necklace holding her mother's ring. Last but not least, she slipped the simple gold band onto her left ring finger. The symbol of the life she was building; one small addition to her morning ritual before slipping her badge and gun, but one with great significance to her.

She had a fancier, more extravagant ring for when they went out, the one he'd slipped onto her finger the day they were married. The one she'd worn proudly during their entire honeymoon. This small simple gold band was the one concession between her job and the man she loved. He had, of course, known she couldn't wear _that_ ring at the precinct or at crime scenes. She had agonized over how to break it to him, but in the end, he had understood without her having to say a word.

She remembered how floored she had been when he had given it to her that last night in Bora Bora. The inscription on it matched the one on his. _Always. _That sweet endearing man had actually paraphrased The Lord of the Rings on a slip of real handmade parchment paper...in Tolkien's Elvish with English on the reverse, when he had presented it to her in the hotel's four star restaurant.

"_One ring to make them both.  
One ring to find them.  
One ring to rule these two,  
and in their joined hearts bind them" _

She had cried, her tears unrestrained at his thoughtfulness. It was so endearingly sweet how he had acknowledged the inner Sci Fi geek in her, and the not-so-hidden one in him. Something private between the two of them, though she did sense his daughter's hand in the presentation. That small slip of parchment now lived in the same drawer of her desk as the stick man she had made with her father so long ago. Another symbol of finding joy even in the dark times.

She couldn't help the parting shot as she headed for the door after putting on her jewelry, however.

"You coming, Castle?"

Rick stirred and rose slowly without a moment's hesitation. "I'll start the coffee and jump in the shower, be ready in fifteen minutes."

* * *

**Twenty Minutes Later  
Alley outside the Palermo Club  
Washington Heights**

No matter how much she tried to hide or deny it, Kate always felt a nearly overpowering sense of dread every time she came near this alley. The one where her mother was found stabbed to death. To see crime scene tape stretched across it again awakened feelings in her she had thought long buried. Demons she'd thought slain not so long ago.

Lanie was kneeling over a body not five feet from where her mother had been left lying among the trash by Dick Coonan. The desire to run somewhere and throw up or scream, or something equally unprofessional nearly overwhelmed her, until she felt a comforting hand on her back.

"_How had I even contemplated not waking him up earlier?"_ Kate thought to herself. _"The one person still alive who truly understands." _

She felt the rhythmic stroking of his fingers on the base of her spine and the quiet whisper that she just barely heard over the hubbub of the crime scene.

"It's all right Kate, you've got this."

The very same words he had told her after Mitch Yancey had pointed a shotgun at her nearly three years ago. The words she needed most to hear. The ones that put her back in control, propelling her forward under the crime scene tape and into the alley, Castle right at her heels, just he had been for the past six years; her solid right hand, the wall keeping her heart safe, now that she had finally torn down the ones she had built herself.

If she had to walk into this alley again, it was..._right..._somehow that he was here with her. Standing just off her right shoulder, ready to dust her off and put her back on her feet if she stumbled; a joke or a kind word to lighten the oppressive mood if she needed it. For the first time in her life she was completely okay with that, that she had actually surrendered nothing by letting him all the way in.

"What do you have for me, Lanie?" she said, kneeling next to the body of a woman appeared to be in her early thirties.

"According to the ID in her wallet, her name is Mary Anne Nichols, aged thirty-two. She was found two hours ago by a college student cutting through the alley. Liver temp puts her time of death around three-thirty AM."

Kate nearly blanched when Lanie pointed out the knife wounds, comforted only by Rick's feather light touch on her shoulder, as if he'd read her mind, as Lanie continued, feigning ignorance of her discomfort, mindful of all the crime scene techs and officers at the scene. Her eyes saying all they needed to convey to Kate, before returning to her task: pointing out each injury.

"Her throat had been slit twice from left to right and her abdomen mutilated with one deep jagged wound, several incisions across the abdomen, and three or four similar cuts on the right side, likely caused by a knife at least six to eight inches long used violently and downwards."

"At first I thought this was a pop and drop, because I couldn't find enough blood to account for all of these injuries, but then I turned her over and found this."

Lanie turned the scantily clad woman over, her eyes wide with concern for her friend as she revealed a wound that made Kate's skin turn white. The similarity to her mother's wound pattern was glaringly evident.

"A single sharp stab wound to the kidneys. Given the lack of blood at the scene, I would guess death had been nearly instantaneous. I'll know more when I get her back to the lab."

Kate found it hard to breathe as she fought for control; fought to keep her roiling emotions in check when it finally hit her where she had seen this woman before. A day she wanted to be able to forget, but was etched forever into her psyche. She still had nightmares about it.

"I'm sorry, baby." Lanie whispered. Her eyes flashing to Rick, as if to say _"Get her out of here."_

Rick complied without conscious thought, his hand returning to her back. A gentle hand touched hers, brushing the gold band on her finger as he led her quietly out of the alley, not speaking a word as she ordered officers at the scene to continue the canvas. Her voice unwavering, words spoken by rote as he found a quiet spot where nobody would see her collapse into him.

"I've met that woman before." Kate whispered as she leaned into his embrace, his arms wrapped tight around her, holding her together in a way she had never before known she had needed till this man had bumbled into her life like a bull in a china shop six years ago.

"She was in the compound where I was being held. I had borrowed her cell phone to make the second phone call, before I was made...before...before Simmons..."

Kate trailed off, she still, even now had trouble putting what was done to her that night into words. She had gone back to Dr. Burke after that incident. Her Detective's trained mind screaming that it was no coincidence that, when she was supposed to have been held incommunicado, that she had been allowed access to a phone, not once but twice. That she had been given the opportunity to let somebody know she was alive so they would continue to search for her...that she had been targeted.

"Elena Markov...it has to be." Kate muttered. "A stabbing death in _this_ alley? This can't be a coincidence."

Kate's voice shook, as Rick propped her up, letting her hug it out, something she had never before realized she'd needed from time to time; the reassurance that only Rick's strong presence, and his arms around her could provide. She'd tried to find this before, in the arms of men she didn't love, using them for sex and a warm body in her bed at night, but it had never been like this before. She had never let anyone this far in, never felt this...safe to be less than her best before with anyone else.

"Elena is still rolling up the drug cartel. Still cleaning his mess. Bracken is sending a message...even from prison." Kate whispered, barely wanting to voice the thought aloud.

"I thought she was more precise than this," Rick replied. "From what you described when she rescued you from Harten, she preferred quick and clean kills."

"If not her, then whom, Rick? If it isn't her then I have no place to start."

"Whether it's her or not, we will get to the bottom of this Kate. You've got this."

"Okay." Kate whispered, not sure if she believed him yet. But he seemed to have enough faith for the both of them. She would trust that, like she trusted him. See this case through to the end. Her posture straightened as she rose to her full height for the first time since walking into that alley. The fire inside her was finally flaring fully to life, giving her the drive to get to the bottom of this. She was filled with righteous anger at the injustice of it all. Nobody, not even a street prostitute, had deserved to die like this. Mary Anne Nichols' life had been savagely taken from her. Kate owed her this much. Prostitute or not, the woman deserved the same justice she had found her mother.

Kate kissed Rick firmly on the lips before stepping out of his embrace, a silent thank you for propping her up when she'd needed it; a promise of more later. Until then she would put her game face on and get to work.

"You coming, Castle?" she said over her shoulder, smiling sweetly at him before walking to the car, confident he was following close behind.

Neither of them noticed the dark figure behind them in the alley, hidden in the shadows.

He'd been waiting...and watching. Drawn to the chaos he'd created like a moth to a flame. The game had only just begun. He would let this Detective Beckett scurry in ignorance for a little while yet. Let her flush the other woman out for him first. They would all know his name soon. Her and that Russian bitch who'd gotten in his way before. When he'd made this corrupt cesspool of a city tremble in fear of the dark, his great great grandfather's name would be written in blood for all to see.

Jack.

* * *

*Author's note* Don't get too used to much of anything from Jack's point of view. The end of this chapter was merely screaming for some hyperbole. 1..2...Jack is coming for you...:-P For those of you coming in now...I made a few changes at the advice of my beta. Allowances must be made for somebody who lives on the other side of the planet...and actually has a life. Sometimes wires get crossed.

Mark


	3. Comes The Inquisitor

**Chapter Three  
Comes the Inquisitor**

* * *

"_The city was drowning in decay, chaos, immorality.  
A message needed to be sent, etched in blood, for all the world to see..."_

Sebastian (aka Jack the Ripper) Babylon 5 episode "Comes the Inquisitor" (1995)

* * *

_Previously_

_"Whether it's her or not, we will get to the bottom of this Kate. You've got this."_

_"Okay." Kate whispered, not sure if she believed him yet. But he seemed to have enough faith for the both of them. She would trust that, like she trusted him. See this case through to the end. Her posture straightened as she rose to her full height for the first time since walking into that alley. The fire inside her was finally flaring fully to life, giving her the drive to get to the bottom of this. She was filled with righteous anger at the injustice of it all. Nobody, not even a street prostitute, had deserved to die like this. Mary Anne Nichols' life had been savagely taken from her. Kate owed her this much. Prostitute or not, the woman deserved the same justice she had found for her mother._

_Kate kissed Rick firmly on the lips before stepping out of his embrace, a silent thank you for propping her up when she'd needed it; a promise of more later. Until then she would put her game face on and get to work._

_"You coming, Castle?" she said over her shoulder, smiling sweetly at him before walking to the car, confident he was following close behind._

_Neither of them noticed the dark figure behind them in the alley, hidden in the shadows._

_He'd been waiting...and watching. Drawn to the chaos he'd created like a moth to a flame. The game had only just begun. He would let this Detective Beckett scurry in ignorance for a little while yet. Let her flush the other woman out for him first. They would all know his name soon. Her and that Russian bitch who'd gotten in his way before. When he'd made this corrupt cesspool of a city tremble in fear of the dark, his great, great, grandfather's name would be written in blood for all to see._

_Jack._

* * *

Kate had not been prepared for the applause that broke out when she and Rick walked into the 12th Precinct. _She_ had been in and out of the precinct for weeks, mostly to sit at her desk and chafe at the restrictions placed upon her. She had received all of the post-wedding hazing from the cops who had not been invited to the wedding. She had forgotten that Rick had not been to the precinct yet.

Between his physical therapy sessions and visits with Dr. Burke, (which she knew from personal experience COULD both be tiring and draining, each in their own way) he had not once set foot in the precinct. He took her for coffee each morning and dropped her at work. The rest of the time he spent writing at _The Old Haunt_. From what Rick shared with her, Burke thought it was great how he worked his personal demons out in his writing. The man hadn't been able to talk her into writing a journal, or even so much as a letter of her own when she had seen him before.

She was certain that Carter Burke found it refreshing to have a referral from the NYPD who had actually seemed to respect the therapy process.

Their married life during her two weeks of enforced desk-duty had settled into a quiet domesticity (between bouts of earth-shattering, bed-rocking, toe-curling monkey-sex) that Kate found oddly refreshing to come home to every night. They had both mostly recovered from their aborted first wedding attempt.

Their conjugal bliss had prompted another change in living arrangements, one not wholly unexpected, at least not to Kate. Alexis had moved back to the dorms the week before, citing that her father and stepmother's nightly activities returning to _"normal"_ had made her decide to _"move back before she required extensive therapy."_ The last part stated with one terra cotta brow raised and her forehead crinkled in mock exasperation...laced with enough humor to let Kate know that it was more about giving them their privacy than about her feeling pushed out. She'd left enough of her things in her room to assure her father she'd be back often.

Now that Rick had returned to the precinct things were starting to come back to normal. Kate was almost glad in a way that they had kept her off active rotation until he came back. She was a competent detective in her own right, had been long before Rick came along, but Captain Montgomery had been right, she wasn't having any fun before. It made the job lighter, easier to manage somehow.

Rick had barely reached her desk to watch her write what they had so far on the murder board, when she heard the door to Captain Gates' office open.

"Detective Beckett, can I see you in my office for a moment?"

Castle sat down heavily in his chair, sensing that he was not going be invited to participate in this discussion. Kate's reaction to the nature of the crime scene had obviously not gone as unnoticed as either of them would have liked. Though Rick was making a very good show of looking at the murder board, trying to come up with a theory...any theory...his eyes repeatedly found themselves pointed at the drawn blinds of the captain's now closed office door. A dead giveaway to where his heart really was...or wanted to be.

Ryan noticed.

He had been watching Castle since he first came in with Beckett after viewing the crime scene. Between himself and Javi, he had spent the most time studying Rick over the years. The two of them had a lot in common, even before they shared the burden of Jerry Tyson's escape from custody and the murders he had committed since then.

Ryan knew the reason behind the gloves the writer now wore everywhere. Knew that beneath them were the scarred hands of a man who had clawed his way out of a burning car and then up a steep ravine, slowly bleeding out the whole way to get to Kate last May. He knew Castle was worried about her, they all were. This style killing, in that alley, with that wound pattern had stirred things up in Kate this morning that everybody, including her, had hoped had been put to rest after the arrest of William Bracken.

But here was Kate's husband, her partner in more ways than one, seated in his chair looking like a lost puppy. Trying desperately to look productive like the rest of the team, while in truth, wanting nothing more than to be in that office with her, and knowing why he couldn't be. Kate had to prove that she could stand up for herself. That she could convince "Iron Gates" that she can work this case and not lose perspective like she had every single other time the ghost of her mother's case had come back to bite her on the ass.

"Detective, are you sure you should be working this case?" Gates asked point blank as soon as she was seated at her desk and Kate had closed the door.

"Yes sir, I can handle it. Seeing the victim, in the alley where my mother was...found...was just a shock, nothing more." Kate replied.

"From what I hear you know the victim." Gates responded, intentionally laying down the gauntlet, "Are you sure this won't be a conflict of interest?"

Indignation flared in Kate's eyes for a moment, she had recognized the trap that Gates had laid out. She forced the anger down with no small amount of effort and took a deep breath before responding almost casually.

"I spoke to her for less than five minutes in the compound where I was being held last spring. I borrowed her cell phone to call Esposito, that didn't make us besties."

"And if your killer does turn out to be this...Elena Markov?" Gates shot back, her glasses lying perilously close to the tip of her nose as she looked over them at Kate.

"Then I will bring her in and put her in a cage just like I did her employer...provided she chooses to come along quietly," Kate stated without malice, though she knew it was entirely likely that Markov would most definitely not come quietly.

"Fair enough, Detective. I'll let you work this for now. But I will be keeping an eye on you. If I think you're losing perspective I will pull you off and assign somebody else."

"Understood, sir." Kate replied.

"Get back to work, detective, before your partner sprains something trying _not_ to look in here."

Gates pushed her glasses back in place and and waved her off as she looked back down at her COMPSTAT reports, hiding an amused grin with the paperwork that had become the bane of her existence, amused at having used Castle to have the last word.

"How did those two _ever_ think they could have hidden their relationship from me." Gates muttered to herself.

Had anyone told her three years ago that the _dilettante writer playing cop_ she had thrown out of her precinct after she had arrived would actually grow on her, she would have had them committed. She'd known ever since that day on the roof, after Beckett had been pulled to safety, there was more than a partnership between those two. She was far from blind, nor was she stupid.

* * *

Kate walked back into the squad room and back to her desk, brushing a reassuring hand across Castle's shoulder as she lowered herself into her chair. She had meant to offer her husband a more substantial show of support when Ryan cleared his throat, interrupting their moment of non-verbal intimacy. Kate closed her eyes for a moment and counted to ten before she turned her chair to address him.

"What have you got Ryan?" she stated tersely, managing to keep _most_ of the irritation at his interruption out of her voice.

"More information about our vic." Ryan supplied, mildly chastened for having broken the moment. "Her prints were in the system."

"Lay it out for me Ryan." Kate said with a sigh, in her head trying to tally up how many times either Ryan or Esposito had interfered in a moment the two of them were having. The Boylen Place bombing being the one that still rankled her the most, leaving her still wondering to this day how things might have been different had they _had_ that conversation they were on the verge of at the time. Had she been able to make her feelings clear to him before the interrogation she only recently learned had set them back for months.

Tentatively, Ryan gave her the short version of Mary Anne Nichols criminal record.

"Mary Anne Nichols, born Mary Anne Walker August 26 1980, was two years into college at NYU when both parents were killed in a car accident in 1998. Obviously her tuition money ran out and she ended up on the street. Had her first arrest for solicitation in 1999."

Kate nodded, and waved for Ryan to continue, though Esposito who took up where his partner left off.

"Two more arrests for criminal possession of a controlled substance since then and two more for solicitation. Seems she had kicked the habit on her second turn in jail, but couldn't quite get out of the life. I imagine given her level of education that made her a shoe in for that thing Simmons had going on."

Esposito flinched a little when Kate closed her eyes at the mention of the man who had tortured her that night. They had all seen the vat of water in the room where she had been water-boarded. Traces of her blood had still been in the water. Castle's reaction nearly matched hers.

"It would seem that you had met her before your abduction, Beckett." Ryan stated, eyeing his partner and giving him a look that said, "_nice going moron" _along with an elbow in the ribs, before completing the thought, "According to this the collar for her second arrest in 2006 was credited to Officer K. Beckett, 12th Precinct."

Kate had wondered how the woman could have "accidentally" stumbled into the locked room where she had been held just in time to loan her her cell phone. Obviously it had not been nearly so serendipitous after all. The woman had recognized her and hadn't ratted her out, since she had lasted as "Elena" for several more hours after that. She owed Mary Anne Nichols her life.

The only thing she could do now to repay the woman was find the dirtbag who killed her.

Kate had barely placed all of the pertinent information on the murder board, including her photo from the crime scene and the very thin time-line for her last movements. Under suspects, a booking photo for Elena Markov, taken when she had been trying to resemble Kate Beckett enough to get Fowler to enlist her in the sting, was tacked to the board under the suspect heading.

Anne's pimp, William "Crazy Billy" Traynor, also could not be ruled out. He was known by vice to have a violent disposition. According to the canvas, he had stated he was out at the nightclub he co-owned all that night. So she sent Ryan and Esposito out to run down his alibi for the previous night between two-thirty and four o'clock AM, their window for her murder.

No sooner had Kate finished her work on the whiteboard, written everything that had thus far been collected and settled into her office chair, the phone on her desk rang.

"Beckett." she spoke into the receiver, her face softening at the sound of the voice on the other end.

"Yes Lanie I'm still on the case, no...I'm fine...Okay, Castle and I will be down shortly."

Rick perked up a little that they would be able to get out of the now seemingly oppressive confines of the precinct. He was beginning to understand why he had avoided the place during Kate's desk duty when there would have been nothing for him to do. Since the car wreck, he had found himself not overly fond of enclosed or crowded spaces.

When there was nothing for him to do, nothing for him to wrap his mind around, those last moments before the airbag on the Mercedes popped...when he knew he wasn't getting control of the car back...watching in terror as he went over the embankment...played on infinite repeat whenever he closed his eyes.

Going outside, even if it was just the artificial canyons of Manhattan, was the only thing that soothed him. Getting out and being active was the only thing that kept those images at bay.

"Come on Castle, Lanie has something for us down at the morgue."

Rick was up before she finished the sentence, holding her jacket for her. Hoping he didn't seem too eager for the excursion.

* * *

Elena Markov knew she was being hunted. Not just by the police, that was to be expected, she killed people for a living. Interpol had been hunting for her for years. Police had rules that they were required to follow, they had to have evidence before they could come after her.

More evidence than the shaky recollections of a detective who had been barely conscious at the time. They didn't even have proof that she had killed her guard at the hospital. She had little to fear from the police, the worst they could do was send her to prison. Anyone who had ever seen the inside of a Russian woman's prison, which she had, would laugh at how soft American prisons were.

Prison might not be so unattractive an option, given her circumstances, but it was still one of last resort.

What was hunting her was no cop. He was a shadow in darkened alleyways, one she kept seeing even when she knew nobody was there. This was no mere man she was being hunted by, somebody who hunted people for money or ideology. Those she understood. She was part of that world, had been since she was twelve years old and been rejected as a ballet dancer when someone thought the fluidity of her movements could be set to a different purpose.

What was hunting her was something else entirely, someone evil and twisted. She had gotten in his way, placed herself on his radar and now she was prey. She knew it was only a matter of time before he came for her.

When that moment arrived, she would have to be ready for the fight of her life.

* * *

_*Author's note* The thing I had Castle doing, recalling over and over the last seconds before his crash. The need to get out and be active, because the walls would begin to close in...that happened to me. For quite a while after I wrecked a car, I found myself not enjoying being inside much, even though it was winter time. I still have a distinct distaste for small emclosed spaces. I can deal, but if I feel stuck there, it isn't pretty. A little dose of reality to go with my fiction._

_Mark _


	4. The Sleeper Has Awakened

**Chapter Four  
The Sleeper Has Awakened  
**

* * *

_Dear Boss...  
"Years from now, people will look back and say I gave birth to the 20th century..."_

_Jack the Ripper From the movie, ____From Hell_

* * *

_______Previously_

___"Yes Lanie I'm still on the case, no...I'm fine...Okay, Castle and I will be down shortly."_

_Rick perked up a little that they would be able to get out of the now seemingly oppressive confines of the precinct. He was beginning to understand why he had avoided the place during Kate's desk duty when there would have been nothing for him to do. Since the car wreck, he had found himself not overly fond of enclosed or crowded spaces._

_When there was nothing for him to do, nothing for him to wrap his mind around, those last moments before the airbag on the Mercedes popped...when he knew he wasn't getting control of the car back...watching in terror as he went over the embankment...played on infinite repeat whenever he closed his eyes._

_Going outside, even if it was just the artificial canyons of Manhattan, was the only thing that soothed him. Getting out and being active was the only thing that kept those images at bay._

_"Come on Castle, Lanie has something for us down at the morgue."_

_Rick was up before she finished the sentence, holding her jacket for her. Hoping he didn't seem too eager for the excursion._

* * *

_During the short drive to the morgue, Kate could tell there was something off with Rick; if she really thought about it, something had been off with him for a while now. Though she had not noticed any major symptoms of claustrophobia before, the evidence seemed to be stacking up. _

_He hadn't so much as gotten behind the wheel of a car since they came home. He'd given up the keys to the Ferrari the last time they'd weekended in the Hamptons without so much as a word of complaint, not even to needle her about the way she drove it. _

_He used the car service more than he used to, and his complaints about not being allowed to drive never seemed to surface lately. He didn't reach for her free hand or try to touch her when she was driving anymore either. He was eager to get out of the precinct, that was certain; but in the car, in traffic, he seemed to fidget more than he used to. Though he tried to hide it, she could see the iron grip he had on the door handle. _

_Their honeymoon in the Maldives had been cut short by a side-trip to Bora Bora after only a few days because of the closed-off nature of their hotel suite (it was a feature he had been very excited about when they made the reservations because he'd wanted to assure their privacy while they were there)._

_The hotel in Bora Bora had many more large windows looking outside, and a big open-plan private veranda that they both made a lot of use of, both for dinner and for lovemaking. She had thought it to be sweet and spontaneous at the time; Rick trying to keep the promise he had made to her that their marriage would not become boring. But now she was seeing something else entirely. _

_She had dismissed it at the time, but on the one occasion she had suggested he come into the precinct with her to say hi to the boys, who hadn't seen him in weeks, he had demurred, citing not wishing to antagonize Captain Gates as an excuse._

_At the look of disappointment she had leveled on him at this, he had promised to have them over for a poker night and did just that. She had thought nothing of it at the time, but the look that crossed his eyes, which he had been quick to hide from her, had not been nervous apprehension... it had been panic._

_She made a note to herself to call Dr. Burke and let him know this was something he needed to bring up in their sessions if he hadn't already. Rick would be mad at her for that, but as his wife, his well-being was now __her__ responsibility. _

_When they got out of her police issued Charger, Kate saw Rick visibly relax. Though she knew they were going inside, she could sense a different vibe from him now that they were working a case. There was a purpose to the visit and they wouldn't be here long. She reached over and took his hand when they stepped into the elevator, though, thankful they were the only occupants. She recalled what it had been like for her during the sniper case a few years ago, and shuddered involuntarily at the memory._

_She suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of guilt for mocking him after the elevator incident when he thought he had been cursed. For the practical jokes she and the boys had played on him during that case; making light of what she now knew was his genuine fear at the time. She felt guilty about a lot of things she had done (and many things she hadn't) back then, some more than others._

_'Anybody tries that now, even Ryan and Espo, and I'll make 'em wish they'd never been born.' __Kate thought to herself, almost surprised at how fiercely protective that sounded, even inside her own head._

_Kate was thankful for the distraction when they finally stepped out of the elevator and found their way into the morgue. She was also happy that Perlmutter was away at a conference for medical examiners in Chicago. He was very good at this job - he and Lanie were two of the best in their field - but Rick really didn't need to deal with the man's obvious disdain for him right now; and she didn't need to be suspended for conduct unbecoming for punching him out._

_"What do you have for us Lanie?" she asked, her game-face on, but Lanie was having none of it._

_"Don't think for one moment that I buy that __'I'm fine' __you gave me over the phone. I saw you at that crime scene, you looked like you were gonna be sick. Should you really be working this?"_

_Lanie's eyes shone brightly with concern for her, Kate could see it. There was no condemnation or judgment in her tone or body language, but Kate seethed a little all the same._

_"Lanie...please, I'm a big girl," Kate complained, her own body language making it clear that the subject was closed, or at least tabled for now. Rick's hand was at her back now, his touch reassuring and calming at the same time, blunting her indignation at her friend._

_"And no, Gates didn't find out about your reaction to the crime scene from me, I would never do that to you. Not without talking to you first. You know that, right?"_

_Kate nodded, knowing this to be true, her indignation followed by a questioning look._

_"Yes, girlfriend, I know you got pulled into the principal's office, Javi still keeps me in the loop, even if he is making eyes at Tory now." Lanie said with a smirk._

_Kate blushed a little, if Lanie was cracking jokes at her own expense, she knew her friend would back off, for now. But she knew the discussion wasn't over._

_"Well I have learned quite a few things since we brought Mary Anne here into the lab and processed her." Lanie stated, pulling the sheet covering the woman's body._

"See this bruise here, running along the lower part of the jaw on the right side of the face? That might have been caused by a blow from a fist or pressure from a thumb."

Both Kate and Rick nodded at this and waited for her to continue.

"There's another circular bruise on the left side of her face which also might have been inflicted by the pressure of his fingers." Lanie said. "This is how I know her assailant was male; this rules Elena Markov out as your killer. I thought you might want to note that."

Kate wasn't sure if she was disappointed or elated at this news. Part of her had wanted to chase down Elena Markov, wanted to have something more to add to Bracken's guilt, but she also felt a twinge of gratitude to the woman for saving her life.

"This is where it gets gruesome," Lanie noted.

She went on to point out the series of injuries on the woman's neck and lower abdomen. "All of these injuries seem to have been carried out with the same weapon: you're looking for a straight, single-bladed instrument at least six to eight inches long and very sharp. By the wound pattern your doer is left-handed, and knows how to cut into body. He has definitely done this before."

It took a lot to unnerve Lanie Parrish, but Kate could tell the absolutely brutal nature of this murder was bothering her.

_"I can't tell you who did this," Lanie said, with a slight tremble in her voice, "but he is __not__ a professional, he's something much worse. The shot to her kidneys seems to be accidental. The rest of the wounds are far too deep and far too intentional to have been made by someone trying to conceal the initial death blow."_

_"How so?" Kate asked._

_"This level of violence post-mortem suggests a lot of rage. This guy wanted to make her suffer before he killed her, but she died too quickly for what he wanted. He wanted to inflict pain. He won't make this same mistake twice. He'll be back and he will escalate."_

_Rick had been strangely quiet during this exchange. Even Lanie noticed. Kate knew that by the look on his face and the movement of his eyes that his mind was working, that he was making connections, or at least trying to. She could practically feel the frustration rolling off of him in waves._

_"Rick, what is it?" Kate asked him. "I know that look." _

_"Kate, I don't know. Something about the methodology, the weapon of choice, feels familiar... but I can't place it. I just have a feeling we're missing something."_

_The last time Rick'd had a feeling like this, that that the pieces just didn't fit, was back during their first run in with 3XK. She hadn't taken his instincts seriously enough about Tyson back then. She had been so focused on Marcus Gates and both he and Ryan had nearly paid the price for it. She wouldn't make that mistake this time. She had, since then learned to place more trust in his instincts. _

_To this day, Tyson was still in the wind. Rick still felt a lot of guilt for that. He was committed to getting it right this time._

_She would follow Rick's instincts wherever they went. She trusted him that much._

* * *

_*Author's note* Hang on tight, more gruesome case related stuff to come._


	5. Into Deeper Darkness

_Author's Note. This chapter contains graphic depictions of the aftermath of violent murder. I will block that section off with a double line so those of you whom are sensitive to such things can skip over it. I will not be watering these down as the terrible nature of the killings are part and parcel of the character of Jack the Ripper. I'll be doing my best to mark these as the crime scenes will be getting more and more gruesome as we go. _

_Mark_

Chapter Five

Into Deeper Darkness

_"__In the pursuit of my...__holy cause__, I...did things, terrible things, unspeakable things. _

_The world condemned me, but it didn't matter, because I believed that I was right and the world was wrong. I believed I was the divine messenger. I believed I was...chosen."_

_Sebastian (aka Jack the Ripper) Babylon 5 episode "Comes the Inquisitor" (1995)_

_Previously_

_"I can't tell you who did this," Lanie said, with a slight tremble in her voice, "but he is not a professional, he's something much worse. The shot to her kidneys seems to be accidental. The rest of the wounds are far too deep and far too intentional to have been made by someone trying to conceal the initial death blow."_

_"How so?" Kate asked._

_"This level of violence post-mortem suggests a lot of rage. This guy wanted to make her suffer before he killed her, but she died too quickly for what he wanted. He wanted to inflict pain. He won't make this same mistake twice. He'll be back and he will escalate."_

_Rick had been strangely quiet during this exchange. Even Lanie noticed. Kate knew that by the look on his face and the movement of his eyes that his mind was working, that he was making connections, or at least trying to. She could practically feel the frustration rolling off of him in waves._

_"Rick, what is it?" Kate asked him. "I know that look." _

_"Kate, I don't know. Something about the methodology, the weapon of choice, feels familiar... but I can't place it. I just have a feeling we're missing something."_

_The last time Rick'd had a feeling like this, that that the pieces just didn't fit, was back during their first run in with 3XK. She hadn't taken his instincts seriously enough about Tyson back then. She had been so focused on Marcus Gates and both he and Ryan had nearly paid the price for it. She wouldn't make that mistake this time. She had, since then learned to place more trust in his instincts. _

_To this day, Tyson was still in the wind. Rick still felt a lot of guilt for that. He was committed to getting it right this time._

_She would follow Rick's instincts wherever they went. She trusted him that much._

* * *

**September 8, 2014**

The morning that Rick had been dreading for days, which Lanie Parrish had foreshadowed like a portent of doom, had finally arrived.

The call had, at first, gone out to Ann Hastings who had started her first day on the active rotation as a Detective, but as soon as Lanie had seen the body, she had noted that this murder fell under Beckett's jurisdiction, so half an hour later Kate's cell phone rang and vibrated on her side of the bed.

Rick had been awake for nearly an hour by that time but didn't jump at the sudden noise. The parallels with his experience with Jerry Tyson, combined with his belief that this killer's signature felt..._familiar_ had robbed him of the ability to sleep well. He had been expecting this since they had left the morgue, but had hoped Kate would have been able to sleep just a few hours more. Sadly, his wish for Kate was not meant to be.

The press had been having a field day during the past week...a full-on media feeding frenzy. One enterprising tabloid reporter had done some digging into the history of the old Palermo Club and put enough of the pieces together to run a story on Kate and her mother, making connections that didn't exist between the two cases and speculating negatively on Kate's ability to work this one.

She'd hit the roof when that copy of the New York Ledger had come out. Rick, who had more experience with such things, had kept his head. He'd called Paula, who had managed to get them to print a retraction the next day, but the damage had been done. Captain Gates had gotten phone calls from the Police Commissioner, the Chief of Detectives and Mayor Weldon's office which necessitated a sit down with Kate again in her office. Questions were asked about her fitness to work this case...painful difficult questions that she could neither hide from nor ignore.

Gates had smoothed things over with the brass from 1PP, assuring all of them that Kate Beckett was the best detective for the job; that she had every confidence in Kate's ability to take point on this investigation, citing her impeccable closure rate with the department.

Between her own insecurities and her righteous indignation that her competency as a detective had been called into question, Kate had been driven nearly to tears by the time they'd gotten home that night. Anger had won out, and she was determined to prove them all wrong. Rick hadn't seen her this fired up over a case since they'd taken down Bracken.

After Kate had settled down and gone to bed, Rick had found himself on the phone, having one of the few heated conversations he could ever recall between himself and his old friend Bob Weldon. Though he understood the political position the press had put Bob in, _nobody_ talked down about his wife while _he_ had something to say about it. _Nobody_.

Not one of his oldest friends and most especially not that sniveling little creep of a Police Commissioner who'd tried to pimp Kate out to Eric Vaughn for a campaign contribution, then sought to keep her from getting her job back last year.

* * *

About half an hour later, Rick and Kate pulled up to the location of their crime scene, a construction site within sight of Ground Zero, in Kate's police issued Dodge Charger. Political and media concerns aside, the two of them had gotten a bad feeling about the gruesome nature of the scene when they saw Hastings sitting on the steps leading to the site with her head between her knees looking like she'd just been sick, and not with first trimester morning sickness either.

They walked into what, only twenty-four hours ago, had been a freight elevator but now more closely resembled a charnel house. Blood and viscera were pooled around nearly every flat surface, leading a grisly trail back to where their victim lay on three wooden pallets stacked in the center of the elevator car.

* * *

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Her throat had been so deeply slit from ear to ear that bone was visible. Her minimal garments had been cut off and tossed aside, her left arm draped almost modestly across her breasts. She lay spread open, disemboweled for all the world to see, her blood had seeped between the slats to pool on the elevator floor below. Her legs were drawn up, feet resting on the floor, knees turned outwards. Her face turned to the right, pointed toward the doorway of the construction elevator.

Her sightless eyes stared out into nothing, as if crying out in supplication for mercy that hadn't come until death had mercifully claimed her.

* * *

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It was a truly gruesome scene, one of the worst Kate had been to and she had seen her share, long before she had met Rick. She had always had an affinity for the freaky ones, (not even Espo understood why) so much so that the 12th now called them "Beckett flavored." But even she was having difficulty keeping her composure at the senseless brutality of this one.

At least three of the younger uniforms and one of the newer lab techs were making a point of not looking at the body too closely, busying themselves with any other crime scene duties they could get away with. Even Lanie, who had been nearly finished with her preliminary examination, seemed a little green around the gills.

Lanie stood up and nodded her assent to cover the remains and prep the body for transport before motioning Rick and Kate outside past Detective Hastings, whose husband Paul had come to take her home. In a show of compassion for the newly pregnant detective, Gates had given her the rest of the day.  
Rick watched the other "writer and his muse fighting crime" of the 12th Precinct walk slowly back to a waiting taxi cab, the beginnings of a wistful smile on his face, even in the midst of this terrible murder; hoping one day that might be himself and Kate. Ann and Paul always seemed to be just a step ahead them with these milestones.

A light poke in the arm from Kate brought him back to the moment.

"Stop imagining me pregnant!" Kate hissed, a hint of both annoyance on her face and mischief in her eyes. Though she would never admit it...she had been imagining the same thing too. Just like she had when the two of them had watched Hastings and her own writer kissing in the elevator two years ago. She had still been trying to come to terms with herself at the time, but she wished she'd had the courage to just jump in and kiss him then. The advice she'd given to Hastings had sounded hypocritical to her...even then. That night last year looking after Benny had reinforced her heart's longing to be a mom someday...with Rick, but now was not the time for such thoughts, her focus needed to be on the victim.

"What are we looking at, Lanie?" Kate asked.

"I know this case was originally assigned to Hastings, but once I started examining that girl in there and I knew it was your doer from last time."  
Lanie took off her sterile gloves and removed a bottle of hand sanitizer as she spoke.

"Absent the stab wound to the kidneys from last time, I was able to tentatively determine that the same size and type of weapon was used. Given the state of rigor I would put time of death between midnight and one-thirty this morning. I'll know more when I get the poor girl to the lab."

"Don't you usually use liver temp for that sort of thing?" Castle asked.

"I would," Lanie replied, "but her internal organs were exposed to open air, likely shortly after death, rendering her liver temp inconclusive. This is the best I can give you at the scene. If her prints are in the system I should have an identification for you by the end of the day."

With that, Lanie turned and left, following the black shrouded body as it was being wheeled out to the coroner's van. Lanie's control faltered for only a moment, her features revealing the horror they all felt, but little escaped Rick's notice. Their killer had struck again, he was becoming bolder and more violent. The bastard had walked into this construction site with a woman, tortured her to death, mutilated her corpse and then disappeared like he had never been there.

Unbeknownst to Rick, Kate or anyone else, he wasn't gone.

* * *

_He'd been waiting. _

He had been watching with some interest since he'd returned to the construction site after he'd disposed of his black, blood soaked clothing. He had access to his workplace incinerator and it had made short work of the evidence. His job as a hospital morgue orderly after flunking out of medical school did hold certain advantages. Anything the police did find should he be caught would be so contaminated as to be useless.

His prized possession, his great-grandfather's knife, once more clean and bright...ready for the work to begin anew, was sheathed at his belt. He stroked it...almost feeling the power it gave him.

He had felt almost insulted when that other detective had shown up earlier. She was younger than Beckett, and pretty enough, but she wasn't the one he wanted to cross swords with. His frustration had turned to genuine amusement when she had run out and emptied her stomach moments later.

When Beckett and her husband had shown up half an hour later he'd felt invigorated. Yes, she was trying to catch him, but he respected that and her. He had done his homework on the two of them. She was a married woman...Watching them, he could see there was real love there, but he knew how men were...knew her marriage could be ruined by some stupid whore...Richard Castle's past and his reputation were an open book for all to see.

He would make Beckett see that before he was done...that he was doing this for her...for everyone.

The whores were a symptom of everything that was evil and immoral in the world...a parasitic pestilence that needed to be purged. They had to die...all of them.

He wasn't stupid. He knew he couldn't change the world single-handed. No matter how many he killed he knew that he alone could never kill them all, but the message needed to be sent. The true work would have to be done by somebody else.

He was only the messenger.

* * *

_*Addendum* Special thanks to Nerwen Aldarion and Indrani_S for their technical assistance with the quiestions of liver temp and Rigor mortis for this chapter._


	6. Hide and Seek

**Chapter Six  
Hide and Seek**

* * *

_"In the strict scientific sense, Doctor, we all feed on death. Even vegetarians."_  
_- Mr. Spock, as McCoy mentions that Redjac (Jack the Ripper) feeds on death_  
_Star Trek The Original Series, 1968_

* * *

_Previously_

_He had felt almost insulted when that other detective had shown up earlier. She was younger than Beckett, and pretty enough, but she wasn't the one he wanted to cross swords with. His frustration had turned to genuine amusement when she had run out and emptied her stomach moments later._

_When Beckett and her husband had shown up half an hour later he'd felt invigorated. Yes, she was trying to catch him, but he respected that and her. He had done his homework on the two of them. She was a married woman...Watching them, he could see there was real love there, but he knew how men were...knew her marriage could be ruined by some stupid whore...Richard Castle's past and his reputation were an open book for all to see._

_He would make Beckett see that before he was done...that he was doing this for her...for everyone._

_The whores were a symptom of everything that was evil and immoral in the world...a parasitic pestilence that needed to be purged. They had to die...all of them._

_He wasn't stupid. He knew he couldn't change the world single-handed. No matter how many he killed he knew that he alone could never kill them all, but the message needed to be sent. The true work would have to be done by others._

_He was only the messenger._

* * *

While digging in the records for murders in the last six months with a similar m.o. and victimology, Tory Ellis discovered an earlier potential victim. Martha Tabram, her death originally added to the ones tied to Kate's botched undercover sting operation and attributed to Elena Markov as their first official slasher victim had been, potentially, elevating the murders to serial killer status. It was an unsolved from during their honeymoon, but procedure demanded that it be be looked into.

The same reporter who had run the story on Beckett earlier managed to get hold of this story and ran with it, citing an _"unnamed source involved in the investigation,"_ with enough references to make it sound like someone on their team had leaked it to the press.

The mainstream media took it and ran with it.

Captain Gates was on a rampage on the homicide floor for the next two days, vowing to uncover the leak and make their lives a living hell. Though she at first suspected Castle, given his media savvy reputation, she soon dismissed that, on Kate's vehement assurance that he would _never_ stab her in the back that way.

* * *

The Mayor had just recently been clued in about the sexual harassment complaint against the Commissioner that Kate had filed shortly before she had left for the job in DC. When one of Mayor Weldon's staffers had uncovered it shortly after his _very_ uncomfortable phone conversation with Richard Castle, the man had hit the roof. He'd told the Police Commissioner that if he wanted to keep his job, not to mention his reputation, he had better get with the program and throw the department's full weight behind Beckett's investigation. The office staffers hadn't seen him so fired up since the scandal that cost him his bid for governor a few years back.

The NYPD's Vice Division had had bodies in the Washington Heights area since before the most recent body dropped, but due to the increased media scrutiny, and the Mayor breathing down the Commissioner's neck, every Vice cop not working an open investigation (and some that were) was on the streets either conducting sweeps of the known prostitutes in the area or dressed as hookers looking to draw the killer out or get the regular street workers to be chatty.

Secretly the Commissioner hoped a vice cop would get lucky, nab the guy and get the collar so he could claim the win and put Beckett in her place. He'd personally buy whomever did it a case of whatever he or she was drinking if that happened.

* * *

One cop in particular was dressed in full street hooker regalia: Detective Ann Hastings.

She'd been mortified at having thrown up at a crime scene (morning sickness or no)...at her first crime scene as a detective no less. She knew it wasn't why she'd had to turn the scene over to Detective Beckett. It wasn't personal, of that she was certain. She would have had to turn it over to her anyway, but her pride had been wounded. Being sent home for the day like she was a sick child who'd thrown up in a primary school hallway had just made matters worse.

The crass jokes and hazing had started the very next day. She had returned to the precinct to find an air sickness bag on her desk and a bottle of Pepto Bismol in her locker. Things had quickly degenerated from there. Normally she would have expected it. She'd been in the army, one of a very small number of women to make it through Special Forces training. It came with the territory as "one of the guys." Normally, she found it amusing to be treated like everyone else.

This time however, she had not been amused, and courtesy of the pregnancy hormones she had not taken it in stride like she normally would have - nor had she been quiet about her displeasure. She went ballistic, swearing angrily and loudly every curse word in every language she knew in the middle of the bullpen. Captain Gates had been forced to step in, making it clear - _loudly_ - that tormenting a pregnant woman would not be tolerated in her precinct, unintentionally ratcheting up Ann's mortification.

Hastings had stormed out of the squad room to cool down, at Gates' request, and turned up in Vice within the hour to volunteer for decoy duty. She had played up her Special Forces training and her knowledge of the seedier side of the streets. (carefully omitting her stint as "Lone Vengeance" of course)

* * *

The Vice Squad watch commander had been hesitant to put a pregnant woman in harm's way, but they had been ordered by the Commissioner and the chief of Detectives to make use of every resource. After he had contacted her Captain, he told her she could suit up for the next sweep and made arrangements for a few extra bodies on her protective detail. He wasn't about to repeat the mistake his predecessor had made with Detective Beckett. He wanted his i's dotted and his t's crossed before letting her out on the streets.

Pregnancy hormones or not, Hastings also had heard about what happened to Beckett the last time she had gone undercover. How Fowler and Gates had told her not to tell her fiancé, to keep it secret. She'd been there that evening after Beckett had been taken, when Rick had burst into the precinct and demanded to know where Beckett was. It was the only time she, or anyone else, had ever heard Castle raise his voice to "Iron Gates." Hell, half the precinct had heard him through the Captain's door.

Ryan and Esposito had cringed every time they heard Castle yell, nobody at the 12th had ever seen the writer so angry. When he stormed out of her office neither of them could look him in the eye. It had caused tension in the Homicide squad for days, especially after the Chief of D's had laid into Gates the following morning after Beckett's rescue. Ann was determined not to make the same mistake with Paul and had made sure to talk to him about it when she had gotten home.

She and Paul had had a major fight about it, in spite of her repeated assurances that she would be perfectly safe and that she wasn't out there to search for the killer, herself. She had had to promise on her father's grave not to go all "Lone Vengeance" and go rogue, that they would have a full detail on her and she was just an extra set of eyes on the street.

Paul still hadn't liked it - he still had his police scanner and had known about Beckett's kidnapping - but she hoped he understood that she couldn't just sit on the sidelines and watch. Her own partner would be out there with her - Sully was a slob, but he was a good cop and he would have her back. She was with people she trusted, unlike the position Beckett had been in. He still didn't like it, but he relented with the admonition that she be extra careful.

* * *

11:45 PM

He was not amused.

The police were sending decoys out to try to trick him.

As if he was stupid. As if he had not been walking these same streets for years, plotting and planning his every move, like his father and grandfather had before him. He _knew_ who all the whores were, knew what they ate, where they did their business, what clients they preferred, where they took their "johns" to ply their illicit trade. He had done his homework long before he'd first struck.

As if he didn't know the difference between the vice cops "playing whore" and his own prey. They stood out for _anyone_ with a lick of sense or reasonable observation skills. Anyone they actually fooled deserved to be caught. He wasn't the fool they thought he was if they believed he would _not_ recognize the detective who had shown up at his last kill, now dressed as a whore.

He would not be hunting tonight. A message of a different kind needed to be sent, instead. This was not a game to him, and it was time that Detective Beckett and her superiors learned that he would _not_ be trifled with.

Playing with him would come with a price.

* * *

2:25 AM

It had become clear that that night's sweep was not going to bear fruit and nothing further would be learned from the pimps and street prostitutes of Washington Heights. The watch commander, satisfied that nothing more would be gained by keeping extra bodies on the streets, ordered the operation closed for the night. They would attack it with fresh eyes in the morning.

As the all clear sounded and every vice cop on the streets reported in, one officer's mic was strangely silent. Detective Third class Ann Hastings had failed to report in since her last scheduled 'all clear'. It was as if the night had simply swallowed her up. She had radioed in to go to the bathroom and then nothing.

All attempts to reach her were met with static.

* * *

_**Author's Note** Sorry for the brevity of this chapter...plot bunnies for another story got in the way and I'm trying to lever myself back into this story now. (I misplaced my notes for how I wanted the next chapter to go as far as the Homicide part of the investigation would go... hopefully I can find or recreate them soon)_

_Side note: I borrowed a bit from "Failing A character Study" by AngelicDragons...it's an interesting read. Feel free to check it out. s/10275774/1/Failing-a-Character-Study_

_Hope the cliffy here doesn't keep you up late._

_Mark_


	7. The Messenger Speaks

**Chapter Seven  
The Messenger Speaks**

* * *

"_Sundown, you better take care  
If I find you been creeping 'round my back stairs  
Sundown, you better take care  
If I find you been creeping 'round my back stairs"_

_Gordon Lightfoot "Sundown" _

* * *

_Previously_

_It had become clear that the night's sweep was not going to bear fruit and nothing further would be learned from the pimps and street prostitutes of Washington Heights. The watch commander, satisfied that nothing more would be gained by keeping extra bodies on the streets, ordered the operation closed for the night. They would attack it with fresh eyes in the morning._

_As the all clear sounded and every vice cop on the streets reported in, one officer's mic was strangely silent. Detective Third class Ann Hastings had failed to report in since her last scheduled 'all clear'. It was as if the night had simply swallowed her up. She had radioed in to go to the bathroom and then nothing._

_All attempts to reach her were met with static._

* * *

Ann Hastings woke up in the dark.

Her second sensation was that of a scarf wound around her eyes. She felt groggy and her head throbbed, like the worst hangover she had ever experienced. The hangover from the three-day bender after she'd come home from Afghanistan, and the one after her dad's funeral both paled in comparison with the pain in the back of her head.

She knew she was on a bed, but when she tried to move to confirm this, she found that her wrists were securely bound. As the remainder of her senses began to check in a plethora of sensations began to make themselves known, the first of these was that she was naked under the blanket thrown over her. Not that she had been wearing all that much to begin with... just enough to cover the slight baby bump on her abdomen where once only lean muscle resided.

The place practically reeked of antiseptic and sanitizer...like it had been cleaned extensively before her arrival and there were no noises she could detect, nothing to tell her where she was, how long she had been here or who had taken her. One moment she was in the hotel bathroom feeling dizzy and nauseous and the next she was here.

The sheets smelled freshly laundered and the mattress was firm but not terribly so, as if care had been taken to make her comfortable. (other than the fact she was securely bound in place)

Suddenly the thought hit her: the observation about feeling hung over.

"Oh, God..." she whispered quietly to herself, "my baby..." a tear crept down her cheek at the thought, the first twinges of real fear began to creep up her spine before she saw light around the periphery of her blindfold.

"You can yell and shout all you want, nobody will hear you."

The voice of her captor was so heavily modified that she couldn't tell if the speaker was male, female or even human. No sense of inflection was apparent, nor sign of any emotion. Nothing she could use to get a handle on the person behind the voice. Ellis, she knew, could tear the modulation apart and find the true voice behind it in about an hour on a recording, but she doubted that was ever going to happen.

"I'm a cop...badge number 56324...out of the12th Precinct," Hastings said, throwing as much authority behind her voice as she could under the circumstances. "half the city is out looking for me."

"I know who you are, detective. They won't find you until I want them to...just like the others," the voice replied.

_'Oh fuck...it's him,' _the voice in Hastings' head told her, the voice that had kept her alive during two tours in Afghanistan. The voice she was struggling to listen to now, not the haze in her mind caused by the pregnancy hormones.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked quietly, trying to inject a calm into her voice she most certainly didn't feel.

Hastings knew she was in no position to attempt escape, so she fell back on her military training, hoping to gather as much intel as she could, in case she got out of this in one piece. -Beckett would need any information she could provide to get this guy- but also realized that she would have to probe very carefully to avoid provoking him.

"My apologies for the inconvenience, detective," the voice said, "had I known you were pregnant I would have chosen somebody else, but a new message needs to be sent. _You_ are that message."

Hastings felt a prick to her neck, her last thought a whispered apology to her unborn baby before everything went black again.

* * *

4:35 PM

Within half an hour after she was declared missing, every officer and detective on the island of Manhattan had been mobilized, including the canine unit, in the search for Ann Hastings. The search had gone on for most of the morning and well into that afternoon. To say that Victoria Gates was beside herself would be a gross understatement. She was furious. She stalked the corridors of the 12th Precinct like a woman possessed and spared no amount of vitriol for the new Captain of a now reorganized Narcotics/Vice unit.

"This is the _second _time I have placed one of my detectives into your division's care for a sting operation and the _second_ time you have managed to lose them!" she raged on the phone, not letting the man get in a word edgewise,

"Are you guys _incompetent_ when it comes to security over there? I don't care what you have to do, you just find her!"

After slamming her phone on the cradle, Gates looked up at Hastings' partner, Detective Grant Sullivan, who looked like he hadn't slept or eaten since his partner had gone missing. He looked like he wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

"This wasn't your fault, _Detective _Sullivan." Gates looked over her nose at the man who completely withered under her scrutiny as if he desired to collapse in on himself and disappear. "You were both on a break and there was _supposed _to be a detail on her, just like when Beckett went missing. You couldn't be there _every_ minute."

"She told me over the radio she had to use the bathroom." Sully breathed, his eyes filled with guilt, "I wasn't sure whether it was to pee or throw up...when we got the '_all clear' _I didn't think anything of it...until she didn't respond. I thought she might have fainted...or her mic had gone dead...when I finally kicked in the door to the hotel bathroom... she was gone."

Gates softened a little as she saw that his remorse was genuine. He had been out all night with Hastings. After she had turned up missing he had run himself into the ground searching for his partner. He was dead on his feet, the morning shift watch commander had finally had to order him sent home, but instead had come straight here looking for either absolution or punishment, she wasn't certain which.

He had insisted on telling Paul Whitaker himself that his wife was missing, and had the black eye to prove it. Paul had only struck him once, and had apologized profusely after, but from what she'd heard, Sully had just taken the punch without so much as ducking or blocking it, as if he had expected it. He had refused to press charges.

"_Go home_ Detective Sullivan," Gates said softly. "You can't help anybody if you can barely stand."

"But what about...?" Sullivan began, but Gates cut him off,

"Rest assured, Grant, there are _no cases_ in this precinct today, and there won't be until she is found, one way or the other."

Gates looked up at the doorway of her office and nodded to L.T. and Velasquez who were also on their way home to catch a breather before returning to the search.

"Make sure he goes home, or at least someplace to get some rest," Gates ordered. "I don't want to see him for at least six hours."

* * *

2:30 AM

Almost precisely twenty four hours after Detective Hastings had disappeared, Grant Sullivan received a text message from her cell phone alerting him that she could be found in one of the seedier motels in Washington Heights. When ESU cleared the lobby and breached the place fifteen minutes later, (with Sullivan close on their heels) she was found alive but unconscious, laid out naked on the bed - in exactly the same position the last victim had been, the wound pattern from the previous killing drawn out in grease pencil on the skin of her abdomen, chest and lower regions.

Sullivan thought he was going to be sick, but he managed to hold it together as they cut her bindings and the ESU paramedics slid her onto the gurney to take her to the bus waiting downstairs. He gripped her hand and didn't release it as they fast-walked the gurney to the elevator, his other hand holding his cell phone to his ear as he called her husband.

Hastings woke up in a panic as they lifted her gurney up into the ambulance. She thrashed and twisted in the restraints until Sully took her hand again.

"Hastings... shh ...Ann... it's ok...you're safe...I've got you." he whispered into her ear.

The soothing words in her ear from the only man she trusted as much as Paul gradually seemed to get through to her and she began to settle down before she finally opened her eyes. The man she saw holding her hand was not the happy-go-lucky Grant Sullivan she knew...the partner that made her laugh at his antics and made her roll her eyes at his messy desk. Though the relief on his features was palpable, he seemed hollowed out and broken in ways she could only imagine.

The words her captor had spoken were still echoing in her mind like a bad dream.

"_...had I known you were pregnant I would have chosen somebody else..."_

The bastard had known she was pregnant. He had obviously undressed her and must have done at least a basic physical exam. Her baby bump, though easily concealed would have been noticeable upon close inspection...but she didn't remember...

"Is my baby okay?" she whispered, fear still tugging at her mind, filling her mind with real and imagined terrors only a woman would understand, "Sully...did something happen to my baby? Where's Paul?"

"I called him just after ESU breached the hotel...and I knew you were safe..." Sully replied as gently as he could manage, "I told him to meet us at the hospital...Gates insisted you get checked out...she wanted to protect the scene."

"God... Sully... did he - did he...?" Her mind suddenly turning from one worst case scenario to another... the panic in her mind leaving her unable to focus and she couldn't choke out words.

"I don't think so... from what we were told... _that... _doesn't seem to be his style," Sully replied, his voice suddenly devoid of any emotion... his eyes filling with a rage he was barely keeping in check, "but I can have them do a - " He couldn't force the word "rape" past his lips, " - a... kit if you want... I can make the arrangements quietly..."

Hastings nodded. She wasn't sure she liked this hurt, broken, hollowed-out version of her partner. The pain and anger in his eyes _almost_ drew her attention from the bruising around his right eye.

Almost, but not quite.

"Where did you get the shiner, Sully?"

* * *

With Detective Hastings safely ensconced in a hospital room for observation with two uniformed guards at her door, the cops of the Vice division hit the streets in force. An undercover cop had been kidnapped under their very noses and _"nobody had seen anything" -_ only now, the NYPD wasn't taking _no_ for an answer.

There were uniformed cops, with body armor on full display their patrol cars lit up on every corner shutting down all illicit trade. They weren't even trying to make arrests, simply scaring off anyone who would make use of such trade. If the traffic in illegal goods or services moved to another corner, the police followed them there.

Word was soon out on the street - and the message was crystal clear - that there would be no peace and no money to be made until _somebody_ came forward.

It was only a matter of time.

* * *

_**Author's note** In case any of you are wondering, (and at least one anon reviewer commented on the subject) I never had any intention of having Hastings...or her baby...come to harm, merely scare the bejesus out of her and provide the clue that out antagonist has medical knowledge. Next chapter will explain why Jack has played it this way. _

_I borrowed the behavior of the NYPD from two sources. The TV Series Cold Case, where the drectives on the show sat on a sreeet corner making it clear they were cops (calling the maneuver "no drugs today") to get the street hookers to talk to them. The other was from Third Watch after an EMT was killed and the cops on the show said there "would be no peace" for anyone who shelters the man who shot him._


	8. Message Received

**Chapter Eight  
Message Received**

* * *

"_I've given my life to become what I am  
To preach the new beginning  
To make you understand  
To reach some point of order  
Utopia in mind, you've got to learn  
To sacrifice, to leave what's now behind_

Speak to me  
_the pain you feel  
_

_Speak the word  
The word is all of us  
Speak the word  
The word is all of us"_

Queensryche "Speak" From the album "Operation: Mindcrime"

* * *

_Previously_

_"God... Sully... did he - did he...?" Her mind suddenly turning from one worst case scenario to another... the panic in her mind leaving her unable to focus and she couldn't choke out words._

_"I don't think so... from what we were told... ____that... __doesn't seem to be his style," Sully replied, his voice suddenly devoid of any emotion... his eyes filling with a rage he was barely keeping in check, "but I can have them do a - " He couldn't force the word "rape" past his lips, " - a... kit if you want... I can make the arrangements quietly..."_

_Hastings nodded. She wasn't sure she liked this hurt, broken, hollowed-out version of her partner. The pain and anger in his eyes ____almost__ drew her attention from the bruising around his right eye._

_Almost, but not quite._

_"Where did you get the shiner, Sully?"_

* * *

Ann Hastings' question had gone unanswered.

Sully had fallen silent and seemed intent on not talking about how he came by the black eye. He was still a mass of contradictions from the Grant Sullivan she knew, the man she had come to trust with her life after the past couple months.

When they had first been paired up, they had been assigned to Robbery Division under Detective Demming before Beckett and Castle had gone on their honeymoon. There hadn't been many active cases during that period but she had been glad to be out of there. (She'd wanted Homicide every bit as much as Beckett had) If she had caught Demming staring at her ass, or making comments about how well her clothes fit one more time she was going to have to beat the snot out of him. The NYPD rather frowned on that sort of thing. The wedding band on her finger hadn't seemed to register.

Sully had been a godsend during that period. Obviously his parents had raised him right, even if they had been somewhat remiss when it came to teaching him general housekeeping. She could remember hearing muffled, angry voices behind the door to that floor's break-room. Nothing physical, but she had heard her name mentioned, she'd heard the word "kick," she'd heard the word "ass," and something about the middle of next week.

Not a single word had been spoken about it afterward by him, Demming or anyone else in the squad room, but for the rest of their tenure in Robbery, Tom Demming had kept his eyes and his comments to himself. She remembered being more than a bit miffed about it - she was a big girl and could fight her own battles after all - but deep inside she'd found Sully's behind-the-scenes defense of her honor strangely... sweet as well. Something an older brother would do if she'd had any.

She had a feeling his current state of melancholy may be related to that instinct to want to protect his partner, and a having - in his mind anyway - failed to do so.

* * *

Hastings lay on the bed while being looked over by the female lab tech who was taking the necessary samples for the rape kit and then moved on to photograph and document the grease pencil drawn on her skin. She tried not to take it personally, but she felt simultaneously like a piece of meat and an exhibit at a freak show. She knew Sully and Paul were on the other side of the curtain and that she was perfectly safe, but she just wanted this to be over.

She had gotten a quick exam when she arrived, but was told there didn't seem to be any complications. Blood was drawn and they were waiting on the drug panel. She was doing her best not to freak out, but she knew she had been drugged...twice...and was worried about what the side effects would be for her baby.

The ER attending had wanted to do an ultrasound right away, but as much as it tugged at her heart to do it immediately she insisted that the rape kit and evidence documentation be done first. If _anything_ happened to her baby...She wanted to make sure Beckett had everything she needed to nail the bastard to the wall for her.

The lab tech finished her examination and did her best to sound reassuring.

"Detective...the good news is...I did not detect any signs of tearing or bruising that would indicate either vaginal or rectal penetration, nor did I detect the presence of semen in the vaginal swabs." The young woman told her.

Hastings breathed a small sigh of relief. He may have drugged her, but at least he hadn't raped her...it took some of the edge off of her anxiety, but not all of it.

No mention had been made of the grease pencil drawn on her body...especially in the places Hastings had only ever wanted her husband or her gynecologist to see and she was careful _not_ to ask. She just wanted this examination to be over.

She may not have been raped...but she still felt _violated_...and ashamed. She had been dizzy and nauseous in that bathroom and had not so much as laid eyes on her attacker. She had been taken without a fight, and didn't even have his DNA under her fingernails. Not too long ago he would have never gotten the drop on her and she would have taken the bastard apart. She was _Lone freaking Vengeance _for crying out loud. The soldier in her felt great shame over that. She would have felt better about it if she had at least been able to get a piece of him.

She thanked the woman and then covered herself up both with the hospital gown and the blankets before she would allow the curtain to be drawn back to reveal the two most important men in her life.

The awkwardness between the two of them was palpable even in her agitated state. She had noted it from the very moment Paul had met them in the ambulance bay. She only had about twenty minutes before her OB/GYN would be here to do the ultrasound and she meant to get to the bottom of it.

"Okay, you two...out with it!" Hastings demanded, giving vent to her frustration.

Both of them fidgeted...neither of them able to look her, or each other, in the eye as they stuttered and stammered but couldn't seem to decide on a reply.

"What is up with you two?" She asked, her tone demanding an answer. "What happened to your eye, Sully?" She was in no mood for games this morning.

She heard Paul say something quickly under his breath that sounded suspiciously like "I-hit-him" his eyes locked on the floor between the two men and her hospital bed.

"You did _what_?" she nearly shrieked, almost apoplectic with rage at her husband.

Paul's gaze was still leveled on the floor, shame completely evident on his face when he finally found his voice.

"When I showed up to pick you up after I heard the "allclear" on my scanner, Sully told me you were missing...I...I just lost it...and I hit him."

Hastings was so angry she could not even find words. Her eyes were practically on fire with pent up rage, her fists balled at her sides. It took every ounce of self control she had not to yank out her saline IV, get out of the bed and slap her husband in the face. Had he been _any other_ man she would have done it. She'd have beaten him to within an inch of his life for _daring_ to lay a hand on her partner.

"When he went down," Paul continued, noting his wife's righteous anger, "I realized what I'd done...I told him I was sorry... but he just... got back up.. like he expected me to hit him again... like he wanted me to..."

"I had it coming," Sully interjected quietly. "I didn't have your back, Ann...I broke the faith and I had it coming. I deserved so much worse...I'm sorry Ann...I'm so sorry."

Paul moved to take her hand, but she jerked it away as she burst into tears, grabbing a handful of his shirt instead.

"Paul Whitaker... I love you more than my life," she whispered into his ear, "but so help me _GOD_...if you _ever_ hit him again, babe...we're _done_, you understand me?"

She barely noted the quick nod of Paul's head, before she released him and turned her attention to her partner who still looked empty and hollowed out. She extended her hand beckoning him closer until his hand was firmly clasped in hers and she made him look her in the eye.

"Sully, this was _not _your fault, okay? I was supposed to take Hendricks into the bathroom with me...they put a uniformed woman on my detail for a reason...but I just wanted to do my business in private. I was too caught up in my pride to see that the hormones had thrown off my situational awareness."

"But..." Sully began, and Hastings cut him off with a look. Her eyes still glistened with tears.

"But _nothing_, Sully," she snapped, "we were supposed to be out there to find leads, get the working girls to talk to us. _Nobody_ expected our doer to show up looking to kidnap a cop - least of all me. Get this into your head and let it set there real good, partner: This was - _NOT_ - your - fault. You understand?"

Sully gave a sullen nod, but the dull look was still in his eyes. Hastings knew it would take him a while to see past the guilt he was feeling. She had lost people before, both at home and in combat. It would just take time.

"Now go home, Sully and get some sleep," Hastings said more evenly, summoning a smile for him, "my _husband_ and I need some alone time before the ultrasound guy gets here so he can apologize to me _properly_ for manhandling my partner while I was gone."

Sully offered her a small smile of his own before muttering his farewells and heading for the door.

"Sully," Hastings said in a quieter voice, stopping him in his tracks to turn and face her, "thanks...for staying with me..."

He said the one thing he could think of before he stepped out the door, something he'd heard Castle say to Detective Beckett once or twice, albeit in a _completely _different context... but it seemed appropriate.

"_Always_."

* * *

Twenty-five minutes later, with her hand firmly gripping that of her husband, Ann Hastings was sobbing with uncontrollable relief and joy at the sound of her unborn child's strong heartbeat over the monitor of the ultrasound machine. It was only the second time she'd ever heard it, but it was a balm to her soul, and music to her ears. The drug screen and amnio that had been taken would later come back clean as well.

* * *

Sebastian noted the information on Ann Hastings' chart with some satisfaction. He didn't see himself as a monster. His great grandfather's blade was only for the wicked.

No one would ever know that he had _deliberately_ chosen a pregnancy-safe sedative to put her down the second time and he was not talking. He had made sure to be on-shift by the time she was brought in so he could keep tabs on her condition while nobody was looking. The guards at the door only paid him cursory attention, so long as he didn't attempt to go inside. He was an orderly at this hospital, he was supposed to be here, but he was no fool. He merely wanted to check on his handiwork.

"Message received," He noted to himself as he walked away chuckling, humming a tune as he continued his duties on the charge floor.

His note would reach Detective Beckett in the morning. He'd dropped it in the mailbox before he'd taken the lady cop.

Soon, fear would have a familiar name.

* * *

_*Author's Note* I know are some people who will likely take issue with the fact that Castle and Beckett barely got a mention in this chapter, but I felt it was important to have some resolution for Detective Hastings and her immediate circle. I did kinda put them through hell. I also kinda felt that my antagonist was not quite creepy enough. I think I have managed to do both._

_Enjoy_


	9. Words and Silence

**Chapter Nine  
Words and Silence**

* * *

_"People always turn away from the eyes of a stranger  
Afraid to know what lies behind the stare..."_

_Queensryche: Eyes of a Stranger (from the album Operation: Mindcrime)_

* * *

_Previously_

_Sebastian noted the information on Ann Hastings' chart with some satisfaction. He didn't see himself as a monster. His great grandfather's blade was only for the wicked._

_No one would ever know that he had __deliberately__ chosen a pregnancy-safe sedative to put her down the second time and he was not talking. He had made sure to be on-shift by the time she was brought in so he could keep tabs on her condition while nobody was looking. The guards at the door only paid him cursory attention, so long as he didn't attempt to go inside. He was an orderly at this hospital, he was supposed to be here, but he was no fool. He merely wanted to check on his handiwork._

_"Message received," He noted to himself as he walked away chuckling, humming a tune as he continued his duties on the charge floor._

_His note would reach Detective Beckett in the morning. He'd dropped it in the mailbox before he'd taken the lady cop._

_Soon, fear would have a familiar name._

* * *

**September 10th 2014**  
**6:00 PM**  
**Castle Loft**

Kate walked into the loft after a day spent picking up the pieces of Vice division's surveillance debacle. She had taken Detective Hastings' statement and took possession of the images taken by the young lab tech who had remarked at how well she was holding up under the circumstances. The young woman had remarked that in Ann's place she _"would have probably freaked a hell of a lot more."_

Not for the first time Kate had realized just how alike she and Hastings were. The younger cop had left nothing out of her statement, but in truth really had little to offer. The man had used every possible trick to conceal his identity, not to mention the location where he'd held her for an entire day.

That he had been able to ascertain that Hastings was pregnant was both troubling to Kate and a tantalizing clue. He had been almost clinical in his treatment of Hastings. Combined with the way he had cut up the last victim implied, at least, a certain amount of medical knowledge. He was obviously quick and brutally efficient. This was not your average serial killer.

After removing her blazer and hanging it up in the hall closet, she slid her sidearm and badge in their accustomed places in the jewelry box her father had made as a wedding present. (virtually identical in every way to the one that had been destroyed by Scott Dunn's firebomb). Kate finally toed out of her four-inch heels and moaned slightly as first one, then the other of her socked feet touched the carpet.

She could hear Rick typing away in his office and decided not to disturb him. His writing binges had not come as often as they used to since the crash and she knew that -to him- working things out through Nikki and Rook was therapeutic. Kate had often wondered how many of Rick's best-sellers had been self-therapy, slaying some demon from his own life.

Oddly enough it had been _his_ idea for her to interview Hastings alone, though he had rightly deduced that Hastings was likely more comfortable opening up to her one-on-one. He had tried to make the excuse of a writing deadline, but there was something else behind his desire to be elsewhere. Kate didn't need to be a mind-reader to deduce that this operation-gone-wrong far too closely resembled the ill-fated one _she_ had gone on this past spring. Rick hadn't wanted to admit that sitting in the waiting room with Paul Whitaker during the interview with Hastings would have been just too much for him to handle.

There was a time when _she_ would have volunteered for such an assignment without so much as a backward look, and only the promises she had made to Rick had held her back this time.

Kate lowered her head, still feeling a small amount of shame for having lied to him about that. She had very nearly been killed and the last words she had spoken to him at the time had been both a lie and a promise she hadn't kept. When he had called her on that lie not long after, she'd had no real defense. She knew she had looked him in the eye and lied to his face a few times too often in their relationship, not even counting before they got together. It was something she was determined to work on.

She had been even more ashamed when Hastings related that she _had _spoken to her husband about it beforehand. That Hastings had kept her husband, not to mention her partner, in-the-loop about her decision. She hadn't asked for permission, but had, at least, included them in the discussion and heard them out - pregnancy hormones notwithstanding.

Kate had been under orders to the contrary back then, but that had seemed like a flimsy excuse to her now, given how things had turned out. She had shared things with Rick long before then that could have gotten her sent to federal prison for _treason_, an undercover buy should have been a drop in the bucket. Her -not to mention Rick's- relationship with Gates was a bit...strained to this day. Gates was still trying to make up that lost ground with him. Kate had never before realized just how much Rick's opinion of her had mattered to her captain.

Kate decided to let him work, she wasn't nearly as needy of his constant attention as she had been before the DC job offer had come along. Rick was writing, the sound of his fingers tapping the keys of his laptop was music to her ears. With the exception of lovemaking it was the one time he didn't wear the gloves. She was thankful his hands had not suffered permanent nerve damage.

Kate padded away from the door to his office and toward the breakfast nook where the mail had been stacked, Rick's, hers, Alexis' and Martha's. She sat on one of the high stools, flicked out the folding knife she carried (Rick still thought it was really cool) and slit open the purple envelope that looked like it should have contained a card. She'd thought nothing of it until she opened the letter.

* * *

_Dear Detective Beckett._

_Did you really think it would be that easy? That I did _not_ know the difference between undercover police officers and my intended prey? I have returned _this_ one. The next one will not be so fortunate._

_I have no desire to harm the innocent, but I will if you continue to interfere._

_Do not do this again, or I will send the next one back to you in small pieces._

_For the record, the details on them make the decoys far too easy to spot, not to mention they never get into cars. Your Vice division may need to work on their trade-craft. I spotted them within five minutes._

_Jack_

* * *

A photo slipped out of the envelope onto the counter, a photo of Hastings' naked body with the cut marks denoting where his knife could have gone if he had wanted to kill her.

"**_CASTLE!_**" she cried out, her voice somewhere between shock and panic.

When he'd come stumbling out of the office, confusion - and no small amount of terror - on his face, she was back in _"Detective Beckett" _mode.

"My purse... gloves and evidence bags... right now!" she commanded, something she rarely did at home, but which instantly galvanized him into action, as he brought her the requested items, knowing instinctively what pocket of her over-sized purse she exclusively kept them in. He stopped only to tug on a pair of the blue nitrile gloves himself.

She carefully slid the note, the photograph and the envelope into separate bags, sealing the red tape on each with a notation that they had been touched by her with uncovered hands. She handed the three bags to Rick while she made the phone call for ESU to pick them up.

A lab tech showed up at the door within twenty minutes, signed the chain of custody documentation and was back out the door. Given the high priority on the case she would likely have any prints on them back by morning.

It was then that it finally hit her.

"This guy knows where we live, Castle!" she sobbed, her mind spinning out at the danger her family was in as she nearly collapsed into Rick's arms. She was in no condition to go back to the precinct. He knew it wasn't herself she was afraid for. His wife was a warrior woman, nearly fearless when it came to her job, almost to the point of being careless with her own safety. It was the rest of them she was afraid for, especially Martha and Alexis.

Rick pulled her into his arms and sat with her on his lap on the couch, soothing her with soft glove-clad hands, stroking her hair and rubbing her back as she quietly freaked out. He would be making extra security arrangements for Alexis and his mother in the morning before he allowed any of them out of the house.

For now he did the only thing he could do: he just held her.

* * *

It hadn't taken long for the major underworld bosses to crack. The near constant police presence in Washington Heights was seriously cutting into profits, both in prostitution and narcotics. They had come to a consensus.

Word was soon put out on the street that anyone who'd seen or had knowledge of the guy stalking the streets had a limited amnesty to speak to the cops about it.

Distrust of the NYPD was and always would be trumped by the bottom line. It didn't take long before word got around.

****Author's note** It feels weird to bring this up given this story's subject matter but on July 26****th**** 2014, my niece Kirsten gave birth to a baby girl, Adelyn Noelle Ostrander, 6 pounds 10 ounces. Welcome to the world little one.**


	10. The Professor

**Chapter Ten  
The Professor**

* * *

_"I must not fear.  
Fear is the mind-killer.  
Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.  
I will face my fear.  
I will permit it to pass over me and through me.  
And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path.  
Where the fear has gone there will be nothing.  
Only I will remain." _

Bene Gesserit litany against fear

Frank Herbert's Dune

* * *

_Previously_

_It hadn't taken long for the major underworld bosses to crack. The near constant police presence in Washington Heights was seriously cutting into profits, both in prostitution and narcotics. They had come to a consensus._

_Word was soon put out on the street that anyone who'd seen or had knowledge of the guy stalking the streets had a limited amnesty to speak to the cops about it._

_Distrust of the NYPD was and always would be trumped by the bottom line. It didn't take long before word got around._

* * *

**September 11, 2014**

Ann Hastings stepped off the elevator and onto the 12th Precinct Homicide floor to a round of applause. She and her unborn child had been given a clean bill of health and been allowed to check out of the hospital that morning with the admonition that field work was out of the question. The doctor had made it perfectly clear that her pregnancy had been elevated to at-risk status.

She had stopped at home to change into more suitable work attire, and - much to her husband's chagrin- had decided to report for duty at the precinct. She noted more than a few sheepishly hung shoulders, likely belonging to the once merry band of pranksters who had hazed her for throwing up at the crime scene earlier that week.

They seemed chastened now - something she felt a little bad about. She hadn't been able to sit down yet, due to the fact that the chair was missing from behind her desk. At first she thought it was the opening gambit to another prank, but nobody said a word about it.

After the hubbub had died down a little, Captain Gates stepped out of her office, wheeling a comfortable looking ergonomic chair which was slid to Hastings' desk and indicating for her to have a seat. It was every bit as comfortable as it looked.

"Detective Hastings," Gates began, sounding almost regal, "the entire precinct chipped in towards this new chair for you...including Mr. Castle, who made a very generous donation and even covered the cost of overnight shipping."

Hastings blushed as she looked over at Castle and Beckett leaning against Beckett's desk.

Gates continued speaking, her voice taking on a slightly more commanding edge, the smile not leaving her face.

"Make yourself comfortable in your new chair, Detective, because you will be spending a _lot_ of time there. The Chief of Detectives has ordered me to restrict you to desk duty until this _Jack _is caught. There will also be a detail on you and your husband until then."

The smile slowly disappeared from Hastings' face. She knew that Gates had always been suspicious about her cowboy tendencies since her _Lone Vengeance _days came to an end. It was why she'd had such a hard time getting into Homicide.

Gates had told her on her on her first day in the squad room_"I already have one rogue detective and her sidekick in my house and I don't have room for another." _

The last few days, Hastings realized, she had not only confirmed Captain Gates' suspicions, but she could have been killed in the process. Hastings settled behind her desk and slipped her holstered gun into the top desk drawer. She figured she was going to have to learn to dial her wilder tendencies back a notch. Her husband may be a talented graphic novelist and a dedicated journalist on the crime beat, but unlike Richard Castle, Paul Whitaker didn't have Mayor Weldon on speed dial to save her from her worst missteps.

_'This is going to be a long case.' _Hastings thought to herself with a sigh of resignation as she booted up her computer and began catching up on her paperwork. First and foremost on her list, a detailed written recounting of everything she had experienced the night she was taken. If she was going to be stuck here for the foreseeable future, she figured she might as well make herself useful. She and Tory Ellis would likely be spending a lot of time together.

* * *

Washington Heights  
Later that evening

Though the NYPD had been loath to change tactics at the whim of a murderous psychopath, it had been made absolutely clear to them over the past thirty-six hours that this guy was different. He was obviously not only extremely high functioning, but also intelligent, patient and cunning. The man had not only identified who the female decoys were by identifying their security details, he had specifically targeted one of them, overpowered her and spirited her away under their very noses without her being able to so much as raise a hand to defend herself or raise an alarm.

Detective Ann Hastings had only been recovered alive because he hadn't felt like killing her.

The remaining female Vice cops on the detail were a brave and determined lot. Even after they had been briefed about the tactical situation - every one of them now knew the score - they were willing to hit the streets anyway. Every single one of them had stepped forward and volunteered to continue the surveillance operation, in spite of the risks. They were a credit to their badges, but, now that they had been made, the night shift watch commander could no longer even marginally guarantee their safety.

They were ordered instead to trade in the skimpy hooker outfits for tactical gear and use their knowledge of the street workers to get somebody to talk. Though not a single one of them much enjoyed dressing like hookers and walking the streets to be leered at (both by johns _and_ some of their male coworkers) they liked the idea of caving to some deranged psychopath's demands even less.

They were not back on the streets long when they were approached repeatedly over the course of the night by both street walkers and some of the street level pimps about a guy known only as _"The Professor"_ ,who had been harassing the local hookers for months.

They heard a litany of stories about the man, every story had sounded pretty much the same, that the man had been _"messing with their business since Simmons got whacked"_ or that _"...he used to work for Simmons...but now he was taking over."_

None of them seemed to have an actual name and several pseudonyms had been offered, but _"The Professor"_ moniker seemed to hold up the most often. He had obviously been a topic of much concern for the street prostitutes and drug trade for some time.

He was described as an older white guy with steel rimmed glasses and graying, short cropped hair, who dressed not only conservatively, but well. The Russian girls mentioned that he understood their language and was quite fluent. They also noted that if he was crossed he had no issue sending a guy he referred to as _"Mr. Jacobs"_ to see them later. He was less than gentle, and nowhere near as articulate.

Though the pimps and street level toughs only saw a threat, the underling of a once-feared crime boss making a power play of his own in his former boss's territory, upsetting the natural balance, the street prostitutes were nervous when they spoke of him, feeling genuine fear. Not of Mister Jacobs, (rough treatment was something street hookers were sadly accustomed to) but of a woman who didn't have a name.

She was quiet, and they had been told that the only people who had ever seen her up close were dead. She carried a gun, but she did her dirty work with a knife. The Russian girls were particularly terrified of her, but nobody had seen her since before the killings had started. She was a ghost.

Though Kate Beckett had already ruled her out of the current killings, she knew they were speaking of Elena Markhov. She had seen Elena's skill with a blade up close and personal, and in spite of herself, even she felt a shiver run up her spine at the mention of her, partially because she knew who Elena really worked for, only she couldn't prove it:. Bracken.

* * *

The following day, the officers doing the canvas on-site were able to track down somebody who had actually spoken to "The Professor" in person, and convinced her to come in to the precinct for an interview. A young street prostitute named Melody Lyons.

After a short discussion with Kate and Rick in interview room two, informing her both of her rights, and that she was not under arrest, Miss Lyons opened up to them. She responded more readily to Rick than to herself, so she let him run the interview. The woman was quite brazen, not even mildly put off by the fact that she was in an NYPD interrogation room flirting with a married man. Kate doubted Melody Lyons would care even if she knew that his _wife_ was sitting right next to him as she tried to seduce him.

"_Knowing her,"_ Kate thought spitefully to herself, _"she would probably charge extra to let me watch."_

Kate trusted her husband implicitly and knew deep down Rick was merely playing the woman to get the information they needed for the case. A tactic she, herself had employed more than once in her career, and at least twice right in front of him. (the incident with a Russian mob-run poker game rose immediately to mind) She still found herself becoming increasingly frustrated and more than a little jealous after twenty minutes of watching his _"Richard Castle playboy author" _persona on full display as he shamelessly flirted with her, though. She simply could not help herself and it took everything she had to school her features and keep her breathing even.

Rick noticed, of course, and stealthily rested a calming hand on her knee under the table, his thumb working a soothing pattern along the seam of her jeans without so much as skipping a beat in his performance. It helped.

'_And Rick wonders why I refuse to attend book signings with him,'_ she thought to herself, '_if this is any indication, Paula would either have me escorted out, or I'd be carted off to jail for assault and battery on some blonde bimbo within half an hour.'_

She hadn't realized until that very moment how easily he stepped into and out of that role nor how complete the change was until she had seen it for herself. He had simply closed his eyes for a moment, took a breath and when he had opened them he was a different person. Nor did she realize how very taxing it was for him to maintain that persona until he was done. Rick visibly deflated in front of her eyes after Lyons had been escorted out of interrogation to the more comfortable conference room. Kate wasn't sure if it had always been like this for him, or if his recovery from the crash had cut into his reserves.

As frustrating (and to some degree nauseating) as Castle's display had been for Kate to watch, it had, nonetheless been effective as hell. Rick managed not only to get her to willingly part with more information than she could have without making threats, he had also convinced Miss Lyons to sit down with their sketch artist. Once Miss Lyons was finished in the conference room and was being escorted out of the precinct by a uniform, however, Kate broke her own rule about PDA in the precinct and made a point of kissing Rick full on the mouth after the prostitute had walked past and winked at him.

Rick's loyalties she was entirely certain of, but that woman's were suspect and Kate felt the overwhelming desire to mark her territory. Rick did not seem to mind one bit and certainly offered no objections that she could discern. Besides, it really did make her hot when he helped her solve things.

All trace of humor was gone however, when she saw the artist's sketch of _"The Professor." _Looking back at her from that drawing was a man she had known only as _"Mr. Jones."_

It was a face she knew she would never forget, from a time of uncertainty and fear that still haunted her almost as deeply as the day she had been shot. She still had nightmares about that small dark room in the basement where she had been ruthlessly tortured for information she simply hadn't had. Then tortured some more... long after it was readily apparent she didn't have the information they wanted... simply because Vulcan Simmons had felt like it.

The whole time, Mr. Jones had been watching. She had seen him clearly standing in the background while Simmons and Harten had taken turns forcing her head under the cold water again and again until she had finally passed out, completely at their mercy.

Kate had given the sketch to Gates, who had ordered the drawing copied and circulated in every precinct and station house in Manhattan, then simply acquiesced when Castle had called his car service to take them home as if she was on autopilot. It had been hard enough for her to deal with the fact that there was a _second _psychopathic serial killer on the loose who now knew where she and her family lived, but this new piece of information was just a little too much for her to deal with.

As soon as they were safely in the confines of their bedroom, she wrapped her body around that of her husband, seeking the reassuring distraction only Rick's strong arms could provide. He was quick to oblige her and soon his loving hands had the desired effect upon her, soothing her fears and insecurities then engulfing them both in a wave of passion as clothes were shed and their bodies sought sweet union.

Before long she would once more be in a confined space with that man, but tonight she wanted only to forget, a service her loving husband was all too happy to provide, helping her to empty her mind of fear and doubt as he made love to her well into the night before she fell sated into a dreamless sleep safe in his loving embrace.

Tomorrow would take care of itself.

* * *

_**Author's note** Thought I would have a bit of fun with this one. Sorry it took so long to get this one out, but it's hard to write angst than I thought it would be when I have photos of my great-niece on my phone. *cuteness overload*_


End file.
